Inside Building 1's central physics lab, a cylindrical holographic projection towered in front of Chen Mo—three meters wide and five meters tall.
The design wasn't elegant. At first glance, it looked like an awkward piece of equipment.
But this was Chen Mo's key instrument for controlling nuclear fusion: the Star Ring.
A digital model based on fusion technology sourced from the science library, the Star Ring's detailed design wasn't yet finalized. Its current iteration was still running on idealized parameters and theoretical values, displayed purely as a data-based simulation.
The goal? Build a real, functional device capable of sustaining controlled nuclear fusion. Right now, Chen Mo's job was to verify that the magnetic confinement system he designed could actually make fusion possible.
For fusion to work, cooperation with the government was essential—there was no way around it. Globally, nuclear fusion wasn't something individuals could handle solo.
If successful, this would mark the start of a new era of energy. But it was also too sensitive, too influential to be a one-man project. Beyond that, the materials required to build the Star Ring were under government control, not to mention the immense security and regulatory hurdles.
That said, working with the government came with its perks—top-tier researchers, national resources, and streamlined logistics. All in all, the benefits far outweighed the downsides.
But first, Chen Mo needed proof. Hard data. Something convincing enough to make the officials take him seriously—and let him take the lead on the project.
"Ink Girl, begin the simulation," Chen Mo ordered.
"Okay."
With her reply, the virtual Star Ring projection activated.
Each segment of the 3D model lit up in different translucent colors. Power-up. Gas injection.
Chen Mo watched as helium was injected and quickly ionized. The gas glowed with a faint purplish-red hue as the voltage climbed, spinning in the simulated vacuum chamber.
Without his superconducting computer, the sheer processing required for these simulations would've been impossible.
"Simulation failed. Confinement time too short. Energy input exceeds output," Ink Girl reported ten minutes later.
Chen Mo studied the data calmly. He expected early failures—it was the first attempt, after all.
"Load the design. I need to modify the vertical and poloidal field coils."
"Alright."
A new projection appeared—this time an editable holographic model of the Star Ring. Chen Mo got to work.
Unlike the Sun, which relies on immense gravitational pressure to sustain fusion, terrestrial devices must use magnetic fields to confine plasma. That was the key. And sustainable confinement wasn't trivial—it required fine-tuning every aspect of the reactor's design.
Chen Mo's mind kicked into overdrive, processing equations, design specs, and theoretical models at lightning speed.
A month passed in the blink of an eye.
Globally, fallout from the CIA cyberattack continued to simmer. Under U.S. pressure, the island nation eventually handed over the captured Clown Organization members. Once the suspects were in American custody, the trail went cold—no further news, and the internet gradually moved on.
But inside the Marching Ants headquarters, Chen Mo ignored the noise, pouring every ounce of focus into optimizing the Star Ring.
In the physics lab, simulation number 108 was about to begin.
"Ink Girl, initiate the test," Chen Mo commanded.
"Okay."
The holographic projection reappeared—vastly different from the first version.
After dozens of failures, tweaks, and simulations, the current Star Ring model had evolved dramatically. Every parameter had been revised, every field coil redesigned, and Ink Girl continuously optimized based on simulation feedback.
As power surged through the virtual system, a flattened plasma torus formed—a soft, flame-like glow suspended mid-air.
In reality, this plasma would be hot enough to vaporize anything in seconds. But here in the simulation, Chen Mo could observe it safely.
The current rose. The magnetic field grew stronger. The plasma spun faster and hotter.
Chen Mo stared at the display, fists clenched.
Hundreds of hours. Reams of data. A month of nonstop simulations. If not for his superconducting computing system, the electricity cost alone could've bankrupted a small tech firm.
So far, every test had failed to reach the crucial threshold: net positive energy. Fusion reactions were easy enough, but sustained fusion with output greater than input? That was the real challenge.
And this test was his last chance before the AI conference. If it failed, he'd have to pause everything until he returned from the capital.
He held his breath.
Plasma temperature passed 100 million degrees.
Fusion ignition began.
"Ink Girl," Chen Mo whispered.
"Star Ring simulation complete. Total energy output exceeds energy input. Simulation succeeded."
"Yes!"
Chen Mo's eyes lit up. He shouted, nearly breaking into a celebratory dance.
After so many setbacks, the words felt surreal.
He took a deep breath, settling his excitement.
"Run the divertor model. Let's see how long it can maintain fusion."
Achieving net positive energy was only step one. Next was proving steady-state operation—a requirement for any real-world fusion reactor.
Ink Girl ran the extended simulation.
Two hours later, the reactor was still running.
Chen Mo's shoulders finally relaxed.
The theory worked. The device worked. Now it was time to take the next step: reality.
Simulations and the real world weren't the same—implementation came with a whole new set of engineering headaches—but he now had the proof he needed to move forward.
"End simulation. Save all experimental data—I need to head to the capital," Chen Mo said.
"Data stored. Ready, Mercedes," Ink Girl replied.
Chen Mo smiled.
"Continue running detail optimizations while I'm gone. If anything critical comes up, flag it and wait for my return."
With his instructions given, Chen Mo grabbed the hard drive and left the lab.
The World Artificial Intelligence Conference was just around the corner. He was scheduled to fly out the next morning.
Last time, Li Chengzhi had mentioned a potential collaboration. This trip, Chen Mo intended to make it official. He would meet with high-level officials and propose a full-scale nuclear fusion project.
Now, with successful simulation data in hand, he had leverage.
Without proof, officials might only offer limited support—perhaps an invitation to join their own research teams, under their rules.
But Chen Mo didn't want to join someone else's program. He wanted to lead.
And now, he had the experimental results to back it up.